


Your Colors Crept Their Way into the Crevices of My Body (I Felt Too Young to Eat, to Live, to Love)

by Chatter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatter/pseuds/Chatter
Summary: She'd willed it to be a growth spurt. For the ache, the hunger, the desperation in her bones to be a product of puberty and not this:magic, love, Fleur.It felt like an incantation. Magic, love, Fleur. Flowers in her throat, love in her chest, and magic beating in her belly. All of it was a lovely, deep red. Dark, but not yet as vibrant as the blood on her face.magic, love, flowers.





	Your Colors Crept Their Way into the Crevices of My Body (I Felt Too Young to Eat, to Live, to Love)

Most of the blood had washed away when Mr. Weasley appeared on her doorstep. Most of it. Her nose was still bandaged and red had crusted itself above her split lips. Her eye was purple and swollen and it hurt her jaw to speak. 

A deep, deep throbbing had found its way into her chest and found green grief buried bone deep.

Hermione let her parents explain. Vaguely, she could tell, as Mr. Weasly's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes darkened. It was strange, to see him so serious. It was stranger, she supposed, to hear that she'd been attacked.

Her stomach churned and she pressed fingertips to eyelids, thinking of soft hands, softer lips, and the crack of her body on concrete.

She released a trembling breath.

"Hermione," her father suddenly appeared in front of her, whispering as if he were afraid she'd shatter. "I'd much rather you stayed and rest, but..."

He couldn't look at her. Hermione could feel blue in her stomach. It dripped down her legs and inched its way to her eyes.

"If you need a break," her mother's voice cracked, "come home. I _just_ —I want you safe."

"Mum," her voice felt threadbare, "dad, I'll be all right."

-

Mrs. Weasley was out buying groceries and Ron wanted to know what happened even as Ginny elbowed him in the gut.

"I was attacked," she said. "Just muggles. I was..."

Her face was wet.

Ron was unusually quiet as he held her close. Ginny leaned in to hug her gently, afraid. The ache in her chest was beginning to unwind.

-

She'd missed the Burrow.

-

Hermione had eaten voraciously during breakfast. Shepherd's pie, eggs, bacon, all of it guzzled down her throat with an appetite she’d grown tired of. Mrs. Weasley piled her plate high with her eyebrows even higher.

Ron looked oddly proud.

Ron. 

Ginny. 

There was only Harry left, and perhaps when they were all together, she would forget the feeling of being thrown to the ground. A fist in her face and the drip of blood down her chin.

It was not, however, Harry at the door.

Fleur stood at the entrance in shock. An ache swallowed her body as Hermione stood staring up at her. She didn't know what to say.

Fleur hesitated.

"What happened?" She breathed. Her hand jerked and stopped itself from reaching forward to cup her face. Her thrall trembled. 

Hermione felt red in her chest, her hands, her tongue. Her face ached and she swallowed a scream. Fleur had left without goodbye, left without the promise of return, left without explaining the finer details of Veela bonding. Details that had led her hungry in the deepest corners of her heart.

Hunger was terrifying. It was hot, white, and searing in her body. She'd tried to eat her fill with strange girls who barely looked like Fleur back home. Ice cream on the floor, pushed into an alley, and pressed together until a hand found its way into her hair and cracked her body.

Hermione was red. 

"What _happened?_ " Her voice was high pitched. "What do you think _happened?_ "

The dam in her throat shattered after months of silence, but there was nothing left. Only the dark of Fleur's eyes and the purple of her bruises.

"After you’d left," Hermione hissed. “I was ill. Not even Madam Pomfrey knew what was wrong, and then I realized it was you. You and your _insipid_ Veela magic.”

Fleur’s face sharpened, neck high and back straight. Her thrall plumed and her bones were prominent in her face and in her shoulders. Fleur had always been thin, but Hermione was sure she hadn’t been gaunt.

“You were hungry,” Fleur said, trying to remain still. She could not explode, refused to. She had had months to think of the proper explanation in English. Rehearsed it in French, mumbled it in Veela, and translated it to English. Yet there was no other way to describe it: hunger.

Hermione felt her jaw ache in response.

“Hunger,” she repeated. The word drained her of energy. She’d spent so long searching, trying to put a word to her sickness. “Is that what you call it?”

The green in her chest had exploded on her tongue. Hunger. Fleur reached forward to hold her gently, cautiously, and there was warmth. Yellow and soft and bitter.

"This girl—she looked like you and. I kissed her and. Someone saw us and they." Hermione pried her body away even as something old and animal in her soul opened. "Everything hurt and I was still _so_ hungry. _Why_ am I so hungry, Fleur?"

They were young, Fleur decided. Too young for the all encompassing love of soul mates. Too young, she’d admit, to commit.

But they had.

She willed herself to be strong and to right her wrong. 

Her spine wanted to crumple.

“Love,” she blurted.

Hermione opened her mouth, only to close it again, staring blankly at Fleur, who suddenly wanted to dissolve.

“We’re soul mates,” she said slowly. “I told you this in the beginning, but I was not forthcoming. I’m so sorry.”

She wanted to say it over and over. _I’m sorry i’m sorry im sorry and I will be as sorry as the ebbing flow of water until this—_ you _are okay again._ It was terrifying.

“I was afraid it was my thrall, my Veela, you’d fallen in love with. I wanted to give you space and after the Diggory boy died—”

“Cedric,” Hermione interrupted. 

She took a breath.

“After _Cedric_ died,” Fleur amended, “I was not in the right mind. I didn’t think you wanted to be caught up in this with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on the horizon, I did not want to get in the way. We are young, Hermione. _You_ are young. I wanted you to be free.”

“You mean, _you_ wanted to be free,” she snapped. Red again. “ _You_ were afraid to be caught up with _me_. Fleur, I needed you, and I hadn’t even known it until you left. I already made my choice, was I wrong to think you did too?”

“No,” she insisted, stepping forward, “no. You weren’t. I loved you. I love you, and I always will. I was a coward and I am sorry. I have felt the hunger just as you have, and I came here to make it right.”

“That is,” she hesitated, “if you are still willing.”

Hermione let herself still. Slowly opened her arms let Fleur hold her tight. Soft. Gentle.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said, muffled, “but I love you too. I think I’ve loved you since before I knew you.”

“We’re not okay yet,” Fleur admitted. There were still the bruises on Hermione’s face, her broken nose, and blood on places yet unknown.

“We will be,” Hermione promised. “I know you’ve been hurting too.”

They may be soul mates, but they were teenagers first. Caught between growing up and growing old.

Caught between each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is it that I always get inspired to write fleurmione (and fleurmione only) midsummer? This piece is pretty different to my previous one, but still deals with the ole aches of... love. I feel like I wrote more in between the lines than I did on them, feel free to leave a comment if you want some clarification. I'll be happy to explain if anything! Thanks for reading, maybe I'll see you in another year!


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